


Mortal Affairs

by rhiannonsgypsy



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018), Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018) RPF
Genre: Christmas, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Holiday, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 19:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17514656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannonsgypsy/pseuds/rhiannonsgypsy
Summary: Zelda Spellman does not celebrate Christmas. She does not indulge herself in anything worshiping the False God, for she was a devoted Night follower. But, Drunk Zelda Spellman? Drunk Zelda celebrates just about anything.





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

 

To each other, mortals and witches are of utmost opposition. though they believe themselves to be nothing like the other, they are in fact very similar. Flesh, blood, and bones. We are all made of the same thing, the differences are actually quite trivial. all this to say that both mortals and witches had breaking points. For immortal beings, it's far higher and easier to avoid, as their lifespan itself is immensely vaster.

And even Zelda Spellman - the most pious, self-righteous, devout member of the Church of Night - had a breaking point that, when reached, reduced her to the likes of a mere mortal. Had anyone been paying closer attention, they would have realized that all that had occurred since Edward Spellman's death had been leading up to this moment, here and now. Zelda's life had been challenged with hardship after hardship, epiphany after epiphany, one curveball after another. It really shouldn't have come as any surprise that all of her suppressed feelings and unchecked emotions were finally beginning to seep out of her.

And all it took was the help of a  _little_ too much alcohol. She'd never been opposed to enjoying the occasional glass of spirits, sometimes even the bottle. But, tonight, she was drinking something stronger than she had in a  _very_ long time - probably not since her wild youth at the Academy.

It was a toxic transparently green potion mixed in with straight vodka, and enchanted to provide its consumer with a hearty intoxication on top of it all. Needless to say, Zelda Spellman was currently three sheets to the wind.

At first, her niece, nephew, and sister found it nothing but funny. It was refreshing and admittedly amusing to see their rigidly proper housemate tipsy, but after a while it began to seem rather complicated. Of course, they still laughed when she spun around with a smile and nearly knocked herself off her own feet, they giggled when she mispronounced her words and couldn't seem to control her tongue, they cast amused glances at each other when Zelda revealed stunning secrets because she simply couldn't stop herself.

To see Zelda grinning and even  _laughing_ as if the weight of the entire world had been lifted off her shoulders was an absolute wonder. It was quite lovely, they only wished that it didn't take a plethora of spirits and a severely  _questionable_ state of mind in order to grant her a condition of such carelessness.

The difference between Zelda and the rest of her housemates was always projected strongly, and it lied prominently in their different connections to the mortal world. It was quite simple, actually. Because Ambrose, Hilda, and Sabrina all  _had_ said connections whereas Zelda absolutely did not. Sabrina was born to a mortal mother, Ambrose thoroughly enjoyed forming relationships with mortals, and Hilda always seemed to have one foot in the mortal world as she was never truly cut out for the harsh, unforgiving world of witchcraft.

Zelda, however, was perfectly suited to it. She'd always been the  _perfect_ witch, especially after Edward's death when she felt the need to carry on his prestigious legacy. Everyone that she looked up to was a member of the immortal world. Her brother, the Dark Lord, the High Priest, everyone important to her was a Night being. No mortal had ever gained any kind of respect from Zelda Spellman, and because of the scriptures that she read and the laws that she followed, she refused to permit herself to take even the slightest interest in the mortal world.

She did not indulge in their trivial rituals, she did not contemplate their needless inquiries, she did not involve herself in their mediocre affairs. That was not the way of the world.  _Her_ world, anyways. But - as the alcohol in her system was about to prove - she hadn't done all of this on her own accord.

Perhaps she'd bottled down any and all interest that she had in the mortal world so expertly that she truly had convinced herself that she had none at all when, in fact, she truly did. It was only immortal nature to be curious, honestly, it was natural. But, suppression had a funny way of failing when under the influence of drugs, alcohol, love, or dire circumstances. And tonight, there was nothing on her side.

Zelda always had a drink with dinner, and it never really affected her unless she wanted it to. She'd always been just  _that_ terrifyingly controlling that even mere  _substances_ followed her command. Tonight, she'd decided that she didn't care. That should have served as a warning that the night to come would be interesting, to say the least. Zelda  _always_ cared. She cared more than she'd ever possess the humility to let on.

In fact, it had been Sabrina's relentless holiday spirit that had driven Zelda to drink, that evening. The decorations that the young girl  _insisted_ upon setting out, the ridiculously joyous music that Hilda so lovdd to play on the old Victrola, the mistletoe that Ambrose had hung in the hall with a wink because, to quote the young warlock, " _you never know!"_

Christmas was not something that had ever been celebrated in any coven, for very obvious reasons. Christianity was everything that witchcraft was  _not_ , why should any Night child celebrate the supposed birth of the False God's son? That wasn't all, though. For Zelda, each and every connotation that surrounded the so-called  _holiday season_ was positively ridiculous.

Snow was not beautiful, it was cold and inconvenient. It ruined her best leather shoes, it seeped through her nicest gloves, it needed shoveling, it was entirely too difficult to drive in, there was nothing marvelous about it at all. Eggnog was not festive and delicious, it was disgusting. The only way she'd ever been able to stomach it was mixed with enough rum to intoxicate an elephant. The colours red and green did not light up the winter darkness, they clashed. Christmas music was not easy on the ears, it was relentless and, dare she say,  _whiny._

But, it wasn't just the trivial aspects of Christmas such as hauling a  _tree_ into your living room and decorating it that deterred Zelda from the holiday. It was the very meaning of it. The idea that, during this  _one_ time of year, everything was supposed to be so much better. Families were supposed to come together and be  _perfect_ , love was supposed to be realized and projected, the world was supposed to find a bit of peace. For lack of a better word, Zelda believed that all to be hogwash.

Sure, to most people, the twenty-fifth of December might be a wonderful day filled with joy and laughter and love. But, come the twenty-sixth, there will still be famine, poverty, depression, and hatred. To turn a bling eye for the sake of a mere holiday was nothing but foolish. And if there was  _one_ thing that Zelda Spellman hated more than anything in the world, it was  _naivety_.

At least, that was the narrative that she'd always projected. Clearly, reality was shining through her hardened exterior, tonight. Because, after consuming the entire bottle of whatever practically  _poisonous_ mixture Zelda had been ravishing, her true feelings were working their way past her defenses. She'd gone from tipsy to drunk as a skunk in record time, and her family was indulging it merely because she was so much easier to be around after that harsh edge had been successfully sanded down.

After that bottle, it was  _Zelda_ herself who insisted that they show an old Christmas movie on the vintage television set in the parlor. Not only that, but she'd encouraged Hilda to turn up the volume on the record player so that the voices of various holiday crooners could be better heard throughout the usually bleak house. She'd suggested that Sabrina bake some sugar cookies and decorate them to look like Christmas ornaments, she instructed Ambrose on where to place their different decorations, and she herself was a sight to be seen.

She moved around the house - with slight difficulty, after the spirits had gone to her head and the halls begun to spin - with a golden Christmas flower in her hair, a piece of red tinsel wrapped around her upper body like a feather boa, her glass in one hand and a candy cane in the other. Zelda Spellman looked positively  _mortal_.

It was not only deeply inappropriate, it was  _treasonous._ Had they possessed any sense at all, the Spellmans would have been awaiting Satan himself to stomp his hoofed foot and send them all to the pit within a fraction of a second. But, instead, they were all having more fun than they'd had in a significantly long time.

 


	2. Treason

Faustus Blackwood was a man of expectancy and calculation.

He didn't appreciate surprises and therefore it was fortunate that there weren't many things in this realm that managed to take him by surprise. That being said, what he saw upon entering the Spellman household that cold winter's evening came as a complete and utter surprise to him. A shock, even. He'd been fully prepared to give the residents of the old dark house a fright of their own as he entered unannounced, but instead it was  _he_ who suffered the surprise.

He was there thanks to a revelation that had been unceremoniously gifted to him from the Dark Lord that morning. A message that was vaguely horrifying to the High Priest. He had been told that there was a threat in their midst, that the most powerful among them was beginning to waver and that it would be necessary for Faustus to step in and prevent their coven from losing another Night member.

He was not told who or where or even when, but Father Blackwood sensed that  _somehow,_ this related to Miss Sabrina Spellman - as mot of the other revelations from the Dark Lord tended to of late. She was the largest source of all unrest in the coven, which is why Faustus knew that his message from Satan himself somehow involved the young witch.

Even if his suspicions failed him, he decided that it would only be safe for him to check up on the Spellman household in order to assure that they hadn't released any more demons out into Greendale or performed any more mortal exorcisms or resurrected any more human boys. The list could go on, really. Precisely why he felt in necessary to grace their dark home with his equally dark presence. Quite honestly, it was only right to take precaution after all that the Spellman family had done lately.

The High Priest proved to possess impeccable instincts. Even if he hadn't managed to put together the pieces of the puzzle and realize that  _Zelda Spellman_  was what the Dark Lord had referred to as the most powerful among them, he still had a feeling that she might be caught up in this mess of a message somehow. Even if it was simply by default through her somewhat misguided niece, as it tended to be.

Clearly, he had been correct in presuming that the Spellman residence could do with a visit. He stepped begrudgingly through the damp, unnecessary snow, grimacing at its inconvenience before marching up the porch steps.

He was about to let himself in, as he'd done several times before - he was the High Priest, after all, he  _had_ the right to do so - but stopped short when he realized that something was not quite right. He hadn't even realized it until now, but there had been a rather  _friendly_ glow coming from the windows that were usually darkened by closed drapes. It was almost as if, for the first time in history, the Spellman house looked positively  _welcoming._ It was disgusting, yet why did he suddenly feel  _warm_ standing out there in the cold winter air? That conflicting feeling could only mean one thing -  _Christmas._

Faustus made a face upon pondering the notion of the mortals' holiday season. It had always been a source of such confliction for witches and warlocks, himself included. Because, as much as they stood against everything that Christmas represented, it never truly failed to provide even Satanic immortals with a sense of unavoidable  _joy._

When Faustus heard the unmistakable sound of friendly laughter coming from inside the house, he blinked in surprised. The shock came not from the laughter itself, but  _whose_ voice it was - Zelda Spellman's. Of course, Sabrina, Ambrose, and Hilda were always fooling around, provoking plenty of laughter among themselves, but Zelda never laughed often, not even in her youth. Unless, of course, she'd been drinking or indulging in other sinful ways. It was the sound of that joyously familiar laughter that nearly took Faustus back in time. He'd often witnessed that laugh in action down in the basement of the Academy on Friday nights when their secret cabaret would open its doors to the students needing a break from their harsh immortal lives.

Now utterly intrigued, Faustus listened further before stepping into the house, wondering just  _what_ he was about to stumble upon. He had half a mind to expect to find Zelda possessed by some kind of demon, as if that might be the only way she'd produce a genuine laugh. But, it was then that he heard the Christmas music and he couldn't tell whether or not it made him nauseous or simply  _happy_ \- a sentiment that would have provoked a wave of nausea from him nonetheless. He realized that he truly had no idea what was happening inside the walls of the Spellman house.

Knowing full well that he needed to get to the bottom of it, especially since it could perhaps have something to do with the revelation he'd had from the Dark Lord earlier that day, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, letting it slam behind him.

Immediately, Faustus was hit with a specific warmth that felt undeniably like  _coming home._ It was then that he realized that perhaps his emotions might be toyed with that evening. He was a warlock, he was a High Priest, but he was still a  _man._ He was made of flesh and bone, and his emotions were guarded, yes, but not untouchable. He recognized the scent of something sweet being baked in a nearby oven, he heard the jingling bells of the Christmas carol that was playing in the parlor, and it took a mere millisecond for him to realize thanks to the garlands going up the banister in the hall that the Spellmans had, in fact, decorated for the holidays.

And who was standing with her back towards him at the opposite end of the hallway? Zelda Spellman, the High Priestess of destruction herself.

Upon hearing her front door shut, Zelda turned around, her curly hair cascading down her shoulders as she moved, and a wide smile remained on her suddenly youthful face. Faustus nearly didn't recognize her. Because, with that smile, he no longer saw Sister Zelda, his disciple from the Church of Night, director of the Satanic Choir at the Academy, no. He saw Miss Zelda Spellman from the roaring twenties, flapper girl galore as she drank and laughed with her wtichy teenage friends in the basement of the Academy alongside Faustus himself. He hadn't sen that smile in ages. Even when he'd gone out of his way to provoke a smile out of her, it had been a mere fraction of the wide grin that she so rarely wore.

"Zelda?" He demanded, taking off his coat and pulling his gloves off, no longer needing them in the heat of the house. "What in  _Satan's_ name is going on?" Truthfully, he looked horrified. With good reason. Though, given the state that she was in, Zelda did not realize this.

"Faustus," she said with a toothy smile, stepping towards him and hanging the candy cane that she'd been holding on his cravat in such a childish way that he raised a confused eyebrow at her, "how nice of you to join us!" As she walked away from him and turned the corner to the parlor, Faustus wondered why she was acting so strange, and why she didn't seem surprised at all to find him unannounced at her doorstep.

Intrigued, he warily followed her into the parlor only to realize that the Spellman family was not alone on that chilly winter's night. Ambrose and Luke stood by the fireplace, both of them giving Faustus a rather friendly wave in acknowledgement of his arrival. Hilda sat with an unfamiliar middle-aged man on the loveseat across from Harvey Kinkle as the three of them were engaged in a riveting conversation. And as for Sabrina Spellman, she was reaching out for her aunt Zelda, attempting to keep an eye on the redheaded woman who was clearly in an outer-worldly state.

Zelda batted her niece's attempts away with a wave of her hand and Sabrina rolled her eyes, admitting defeat as she sank down into a nearby chaise and looked towards Father Blackwood, a man that she'd always despised but for some reason she felt as though he was the lesser of two evils, tonight. "She's drunk." The teenage witch said with a pointed raise of her eyebrows, gesturing towards her aunt.

Now, Faustus really was surprised. And intensely amused, though his Excellency couldn't quite show it properly. It was unlike Zelda to become intoxicated during a seemingly innocent evening spent with her family and their significant others. That being said, it was definitely unlike Zelda Spellman to parade around her home wearing Christmas decorations in her hair as she associated with the mortal boyfriends of her niece and sister.

A moment of shock registered on Faustus' face, and he looked to Sabrina for more answers and perhaps some guidance, but the young girl had already directed her attention towards Harvey, clearly relieved to have Zelda taken off her responsible hands for the time being.

Standing in that warm house filled with chatter and laughter, with its guests giving him nothing more than welcoming waves following his unexpected arrival, Faustus Blackwood did not feel like any High Priest at all. No one gasped and rose to their feet upon seeing him, they did not run to turn the Christmas music off and cower in fear before him, they did not even address him properly. They simply welcomed him casually and returned to their conversations, inviting him to join them but going about their evening as per usual. He felt utterly out of his element, and yet it seemed to calm him in ways that he hadn't felt since before he bore the title of High Priest.

Having grabbed another glass filled with almost glowing green substance, Zelda now reappeared in front of Faustus on the threshold of the parlor. Her eyes widened in what might have been fear or realization - alarm, at the very least - but the smile never left her face as she shoved the glass into his hand. "Oh,  _Faustus,_ you probably shouldn't be here." She began, dropping her voice to a whisper as if she was sharing a secret that she wanted to keep from him although he was the one that she was speaking to. "I'm indulging myself in  _mortal affairs."_ There was a positively giddy glint in her sapphire eyes that he couldn't quite ignore, Faustus did so wonder what it meant. "You would be  _utterly_ furious." Her voice remained a whisper, but the huskiness to it paired with the specific look in her eyes as well as the lack of distance between the two of them weakened his defenses.

"I  _am_ utterly furious, Zelda." He spoke harshly, though the seriousness of his voice never truly reached his face and he was fully aware of that. "You're observing  _Christmas_ , of  _all_ things!"

Zelda smiled again, happier than she'd been for longer than she could easily remember as she girlishly twirled a curl of her hair with her perfectly manicured finger. She hadn't been expecting a visit from the High Priest that evening, but perhaps she'd been secretly longing for one. Yes, it was Christmas' triviality that had lead her to drink that night, but it was sitting alone while Ambrose had Luke, Sabrina had Harvey, and even Hilda had the owner of that ridiculous book store that had prompted her to  _continue_ drinking. She did not have a romantic partner in her life, but Faustus Blackwood was the only person who  _continuously_ came to mind whenever she pondered this. They were not committed to each other in any way, that was certain, but their feelings were just as intense today as they had been nearly a century ago. And now here he was, and Zelda only smiled wider.

"Isn't it rightly festive?" She slurred, and Faustus now lowered his harsh eyebrows. What she was doing couldn't possibly be overlooked by him of all people, he nearly groaned upon realizing that if he had any sense at all, he would excommunicate her on the spot. Of course, when it came to her, there were times when he could be rendered positively  _senseless._

" _We_ don't  _celebrate_ Christmas,  _Zelda."_ He spoke as if he truly needed to remind her which holidays were merely for mortals and which were for Night members.

" _Of course,_ not!" Zelda leaned back, suddenly shocked that he would even  _suggest_ such a thing. But, as she'd lost touch with her sense of balance, Faustus had to almost frantically reach out a hand and grab her by the waist in an attempt to steady her, preventing the woman from stumbling backwards straight onto the floor.

This angered him, he couldn't reprimand her so long as he had a hand on her precious waist. And he  _so_ needed to  _shout,_ he needed to tower over her and yell at her for disobeying the strict orders of witch law. She needed to face the consequences of her actions, and it was  _his_ job to bring the thunder. But, while his own inhibitions were lowered thanks to mere  _physical contact,_ Faustus knew that he couldn't bring himself to do anything of the sort.

Feeling his steadying hand on her waist, Zelda stood upright once more, leaning towards him, closer than before and dropping her voice to another whisper. "We're simply  _indulging_ Christmas. We're not  _celebrating,_ just who do you think I  _am,_ Faustus?"

He hadn't seen her quite so drunk in decades, if ever "I  _think,"_ his own voice involuntarily matched her enticing tone as he gazed at her with daringly charmed eyes, "that you are a  _very_ intoxicated woman, Zelda Spellman." Clearly, he had been right in assuming that he would have trouble reprimanding her, tonight. The teasing air to his voice and now intrigued look in his eyes made that clear as day.

" _Well,"_ Zelda looked up at him through eyes that were clouded with the same kind of lust that was usually present when she regarded him, "isn't that how you prefer your women?" She was merely teasing, he knew that. Still, it was no way to speak to one's High Priest. Then again, she had a tendency to confront him in ways that would be considered  _highly_ inappropriate to anyone else.

Her head was misty from drink, and she couldn't help but wonder if her eyes were deceiving her when she gazed upon his face only to find it dancing around her vision or if she was simply swaying back and forth in a ridiculously intoxicated manner. In fact, it was a perfect mixture of both. "You do realize," Faustus' own voice was merely but a whisper as he spoke to her, and he so  _wished_ that he could manage to harshen it so as to get his point across, "you're committing quite the serious act of treason, don't you?" What should have been a terrifyingly jarring threat from her High Priest came across as merely a teasingly provocative comment, and Zelda was admittedly rather relieved that he was not about to bring down rounds of thunder onto her home and livelihood.

"I  _know,"_ she insisted, though her words were slurring. "I  _know._ And you can punish us  _tomorrow_ for it, but couldn't you just..." she trailed on, instead of finishing her suggestion verbally, she tapped the full glass that she'd placed in his hands. Faustus suddenly felt himself fighting off a smile, Satan forbid, and he forced himself to glance around the room, hoping that taking in their treacherous actions would fuel the fire that was brewing inside of him.

He needed to feel the anger, the irritation, he needed to explode and shut down this little gathering before Satan himself lost his very mind. Instead, as he took in the sights, it had the exact opposite effect. And it was uncontrollable. He did not see treason, he did not see a damnable sight, no. He saw a group of people, sipping on minty drinks, stoking a warm fire, sharing stories and laughter, and what, pray tell, was so wrong about that? Suddenly, he did not know.

Looking back down into Zelda's oceanic eyes once more, he was sold. He had no intentions of going back out into the cold, in putting an end to this innocent party, in going home to his empty chambers to sit in solitary. Not while he could instead continue to hold this vivacious witch warmly by the waist and share an evening with several friendly faces. "I suppose," he began, staring her in the eyes in a way that should have made her feel vulnerable, but instead empowered her, "I have been known to  _indulge_ myself from time to time." And that was precisely what Zelda Spellman was to him - a delightful indulgence. Something that allowed him to  _feel_ as opposed to think.

Faustus finished by raising his glass to his lips and taking a hearty sip of the very strong drink that Zelda had prepared for him. Following this, Faustus Blackwood found himself incredibly satisfied. If not because he realized that the drink would surely have him drunk within a half hour, because the joyous look that his response had produced from Zelda Spellman would be enough to get him through not only this gathering of utter betrayal, but just about anything.


	3. Epilogue

That evening, Christmas was proven yet again to be a positively magical occasion.

Because, gathered in the Spellman's mortuary were two sister witches, two mortal men, two young warlocks, a teenaged half-witch, and a High Priest, and all through the night, laughter was shared between them. Sabrina and Harvey sat together decorating Christmas cookies that Ambrose and Luke continuously stole from them sneakily all night. The four adults shared friendly conversations throughout the evening, Dr. Cee occasionally pressing a tender kiss to Hilda's temple every so often to remind her just how treasured she was.

And all the while, Zelda and Faustus continued to lower their own inhibitions for as long as they so desired. Her back against him as she leaned into him for support and he wrapped his own hands around her waist, they stood that way happily for hours. When Zelda grew tired of holding her head up, sometimes she'd rest it in the crook of his neck, and to his credit, Faustus didn't move a muscle. He had no desire to do so.

It wasn't  _like_ him, not at all. He was a user and an abuser, so used to focusing on selfish personal gain that he thought he might have forgotten how to truly appreciate another person. But, it wasn't all thanks to the strong alcohol that he managed to remain in a gentle and rather innocent embrace with Zelda Spellman without even feeling the desire to suggest they take it father.

He hadn't even realized it, but perhaps things had been different with her all along.

Thinking back to the day that she'd professed her suggestive ideas on monogamy to him and in turn he offered her a teaching position at his Academy merely to produce a genuine smile from her and keep her presence close to him, he wondered just what he had been thinking. He'd already received the physical satisfaction that he'd desired from her, their "confession" session had been finished.

Sensibly, he should have left the room without saying a word, if he really was all in it for selfish reasons. Instead, he'd professed his desires, his longings to her, and in turn she'd practically told him that he was all she'd ever need.

And when he asked her to be a godmother to his children, it was his way of reciprocating those feelings. It was not to ensure that he'd get her back into bed, it was not a forced statement to maintain his respect with her. Not at all. It was Faustus Blackwood realizing that he should have trusted his gut and married her  _decades_ ago. This was the next best thing, and it was dozens of years too late.  It was to make her  _happy_. It was to keep her in his life, by whatever means necessary.

Had he known all those weeks ago that he'd be standing in her house surrounded by her family with her resting gently in his arms as if they were taking part in some kind of mortal celebration, he might have done things differently. He was only a man. He couldn't fight certain feelings, certain desires. And the desire to remain in a warm house with friendly people in a light atmosphere, relishing in Zelda Spellman's company, was something that he could not ignore.

Besides, Christmas was all about indulgences, was it not?


End file.
